Very often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of buckwheat appears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fir had passed over it. The country people say that this appearance is caused by lightning; but I will tell you what th sparrow says, and the sparrow heard it from an old willow-tree which grew near a field of buckwheat, and is ther still. It is a large venerable tree, though a little crippled by age. The trunk has been split, and out of the crevic grass and brambles grow. The tree bends for-ward slightly, and the branches hang quite down to the ground jus like green hair

Corn grows in the surrounding fields, not only rye and barley, but oats,– pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a number of little golden canary-birds sitting on a bough. The corn has a smiling look and the heaviest and richest ears bend their heads low as if in pious humility.

"I am as valuable as any other corn," said he, "and I am much handsomer; my flowers are as beautiful as the bloom of the apple blossom, and it is a pleasure to look at us. Do you know of anything prettier than we are, you old willow-tree?"

"Close your flowers and bend your leaves," said the old willow-tree. "Do not look at the lightning when the cloud bursts; even men cannot do that. In a flash of lightning heaven opens, and we can look in; but the sight will strike even human beings blind. What then must happen to us, who only grow out of the earth, and are so inferior to them, if we venture to do so?"

When the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the corn raised their drooping heads in the pure still air, refreshed by the rain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in the field, burnt to blackness by the lightning.

The branches of the old willow-tree rustled in the wind, and large water-drops fell from his green leaves as if the old willow were weeping. Then the sparrows asked why he was weeping, when all around him seemed so cheerful. "See," they said, "how the sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky. Do you not smell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? Wherefore do you weep, old willow-tree?"

Then the willow told them of the haughty pride of the buckwheat, and of the punishment which followed in consequence. This is the story told me by the sparrows one evening when I begged them to relate some tale to me.